


Strange Love Over Garlic Bread

by gala_apples



Series: An Alphabet of Teen Wolf Crossovers [15]
Category: Parks and Recreation, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, Crossover, M/M, Mixed Orientation Relationship, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny asks his long distance not-boyfriend to meet him for lunch so they can talk to another pair of not-boyfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Love Over Garlic Bread

It’s not like Danny’s life goal is to be a silly twink. He’s got shit he wants to do, and none of it involves being the pretty boytoy of some old rich white man. But the truth of the matter is silly twink has its pros, and one of those pros is going to pay for his college. Skinny little gay men know where the party’s at. Everyone believes it. Especially in smaller towns, where the lack of minority representation means stereotypes are all the knowledge some people have. It took three hours on campus for someone to approach and ask Danny if he had any E. That Danny is now friends with Ritchie and they’ve made out for about fifteen hours total over various drunk and drugged nights doesn’t take away from the fact that people think they know who he is. He could get mad. Protest the stereotype. Hell, if Jackson was in Arium he’d do it for him. Jackson’s pretty anti-social, but the few people he cares about don’t get fucked around with. Alternatively Danny could use it as advertising. Guess which he picks. 

He’s got a tumblr full of pictures and the success of each party builds on the last. Arium isn’t a kegger town anymore. It’s his town. The only problem is keeping things fresh. Throwing a party once a week, maybe twice, that only gives Danny a few days after the hangover to plan and execute the next event, never mind the classes and homework. So he cheats a little sometimes. He goes online and googles things like ‘craziest sheet party’ or ‘creative glowsticks’ for inspiration. 

It’s during one of those inspiration binges that Danny finds the fuckin’ mecca. The wildest thing is it’s not even in New York or Malibu. It’s in fuckin’ Indiana. Some town called Pawnee. When he opens a new tab for more info all Danny can find are historical articles about the Wamapoke massacre and all these initiatives the Parks Department set up. There’s no reason for Pawnee to be party central. Seriously, no reason _at all_. Yet one night this company called 7Twenty threw an end of the world party- metaphorically, though someone also did that legitly, Pawnee’s got a cult- and then disappeared. What kind of shell company launders their money by having a rager to end all ragers?

A few of the things 7Twenty pulled off just aren’t possible for him. There’s no way Danny can get enough capital to rent a tiger. A trained monkey, possibly. Maybe if he advertises on Craigslist for someone with a helper monkey and offers to pay them in drinks? And there is absolutely no way Danny will be able to get Detlef Schrempf to attend, and NCAA basketball players aren’t impressive in a college setting. But he can totally have a decentralised bartending system, all the glasses prepoured and on a double dozen floating shelves. As long as someone is watching for roofies -maybe a three cam system and someone from women’s studies that would never get distracted to watch the feed- it should be doable.

The more Danny thinks about it the more he’s genuinely curious. What makes a spectacle like this just happen then evaporate? Late night Facebooking says Tom Haverford is now a restaurant owner and Jean Ralphio Saperstein is now the proud over of two ankle monitors, one not being enough to hold down his swag. His answer should be obvious. The company caved because the partner is a criminal, probably fucked up the books. But Danny doesn’t know for sure, and it bugs him.

In the end the only thing for it is to text Jackson.

**We’re eating lunch at Tom’s Bistro in Pawnee Indiana. Which day are you free?**

Danny knows Jackson’s not going to say no. They’re as co-dependent as Scott and Stilinski are, just in more socially acceptable ways. For example, Danny went to the university he could get into and Jackson went to moderately nearby Purdue without a thought to tuition, while Stiles threw away his education to attend a Scott level university. If Danny proposes something for them to do together, Jackson’s going to do it. Even if it requires a ridiculous amount of travel.

**I can drive down on Thursday. Weekend’s free too, but I don’t want to get in the way of your cash grab.**

Like practically everything Jackson says, there’s a hint of disdain in the words. Planning and attending parties for a living isn’t something that impresses WASPy adults, and Jackson lives his life trying to be the most impressive person to every possible segment of society. To be friends with Jackson is to realise that’s he’s going to piss on everything you love. Danny’s fine with it.

**I made three times what I spent on beer. Damn straight cash grab. How did your test go?**

Thursday morning can’t come fast enough. From Arium to Pawnee it’s a four hour drive but that’s not that much of a problem. Danny likes driving, and thanks to Jackson he has Sirius XM. He listens to a techno station the whole way down.

The town itself is as small and odd as Danny’s Googling made it seem. But he bypasses the world’s smallest park and the evil library to go directly to Tom’s Bistro. It’s a brick building with a black awning allowing for outdoor seating. The red neon is on either side of the corner that faces the street, in two different fonts. It’s kind of tacky, in Danny’s opinion. But then so are foam parties. Sometimes you just have to give the consumer what they want.

He puts a few dollars into the parking meter and waits for Jackson to show. It’s not long, about twenty minutes. Heaven forbid Jackson have anything but the best GPS in the known world. Jackson’s car screams overcompensation but Danny does his best to look past that when he’s pushing Jax against the passenger door for a hello kiss. He still tastes like the same gum he always has. 

“So why are we here, specifically?”

“Just indulge me.” It’s a bit manipulative, Danny knows. Jackson won’t be able to resist that. To be fair to him though, they’ve been friends long enough that Jackson probably knows Danny’s trying to manipulate him.

The inside of Tom’s Bistro seems more classic Italian. Between that and the wide wall of wine Danny has some hope that Jackson’s not going to get insufferably classist. There’s no host to seat them, so Danny drags them to the seating nearest the bar. He wants to eat a meal, if somebody’s going to come around with a speil of specials, but if Tom ends up being the bartender he wants to be close enough to initiate conversation.

As it turns out, Tom’s the one to give them the menus. Danny takes both and passes one to Jax. Then, before Tom can start with the spiel he asks, “aren’t you the owner?”

“We’re short staffed today, yes.”

“But you are Tom Haverford? We’ve been waiting to talk to you.” Jackson says. Danny’s not surprised by the plural. It sounds more ominous, and that gives Jackson the authoritative ground. He’s also not surprised that Jackson’s done his own research. After the whole kanima thing, Jackson’s even more opposed to not controlling his own situation than he was as a kid.

“Uh...” Tom looks at his notepad and then back at the bar like he’s waiting for someone to come bail him out. 

Danny presses. He knows he’s right. He spent too long on Facebook to be wrong about this. “You’re Tom, right? Formerly of Entertainment 7Twenty?”

“What?” Tom whines. “Ben said all my lawsuits were wrapped up.”

Danny can feel Jackson judging him for wanting to talk to someone who is from first glance a loser. With two attorneys for parents, Jackson scorns anyone criminal. Or at least he scorns anyone dumb enough to get caught. Technically speaking Danny’s done some pretty blackhat hacking.

“I’m not here to sue you. I just want to ask you about 7Twenty’s last party.”

“Do we look like a coffee shop?” A brunette yells. “No questions without an order!”

Danny wants to stay. He already budgeted twenty bucks for a meal, on the slim chance that this is one of the rare occasions that Jackson doesn’t grab the bill. “Do you do garlic bread?” This restaurant doesn’t look fancy enough to only do full course meals, but you never know about small town patrons. Tom could have lofty aspirations.

“Best damn garlic bread in the state!” shouts the blond man at the bar. 

“Would you say that about everything on the menu,” Jackson asks snidely.

“Yep. Everything except the Italian waffles. Leslie would kill me if I said it about the Italian waffles.”

Tom sighs. “Andy, come on man. How many times do I have to tell you it’s called panini?”

“I’ll take an order of garlic bread with a side of conversation.”

Jackson glares at him. Danny doesn’t reply, not even smugly. He knows what he’s done. Jackson has sort of a sugar daddy complex. Now he has to stay until the bill comes, even if he’d rather get a hotel room and bang the afternoon away.

“If that’s all you want, I can text the ex co-owner. He bankrolled Entertainment 7Twenty. Meanwhile, garlic bread.”

Jean Ralphio’s hair is as ridiculous in real life as it is on Facebook. It’s the first thing Danny notices when the man enters the restaurant, despite his suit being obnoxiously scarlet hued. Jean Ralphio parkours over two different tables only to leap into Tom’s arms, bridal style. “You rang?”

Tom grins down at him before explaining, “those two wanna know about our company.”

Jean Ralphio leaps up and sings, “check out our managerial style.”

“Being stoned and on E at the same time?”

“We weren’t always high. I wasn’t always high,” Tom amends.

“It’s all about swag and partnership.”

“Can you explain that?” Jackson gestures between them.

“What,” Tom says flatly.

“What whaaaat?” Jean Ralphio hollers. As he lifts his palms into the air, Tom follows. They end with a high five.

“That. Exactly that. Are you guys gay for each other?”

Danny would protest Jackson’s stupid phrasing, except he really wants to know.

“No, hella straight,” Tom replies quickly.

The brunette girl at the table who’s now catching pretzels in her mouth that the blonde man -Andy- took from the bar yells out, “he fucked him in girl form!”

“April nooo,” Tom whines piteously.

“It’s true. He did date my sister. Mona Mona bill yo!”

“Tell Danny and Jackson about the time you almost had a threesome.”

“April noooo!”

“Best of both worlds,” Jean Ralphio opines.

Danny looks at Jackson, not sure where to go from here. At least Jackson feels the same, his lip is curled in disgust.

“Look. Shut up. They’re mixed orientation boyfriends. Tom is straight, Jean Ralphio will sleep with anything. It’s not that hard to understand.”

Since April looks like she’ll cut his face off if he disagrees, Danny doesn’t say anything. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t understand weird relationship structures. He and Jackson aren’t boyfriends. Not only does that imply monogamy, which is neither of their strong suits, it’s not big enough. Boyfriends -or girlfriends, for that matter- implies someone you have sex with until you love them and eventually you stop. For him and Jackson sex will always be a secondary concern to just always having each other’s backs.

Andy slides a pair of sunglasses down from his hair to their normal position. When he starts to speak it’s in a serious, dark tone, like a movie trailer narrator. “They came for garlic bread, answers, and kicking ass. And they’re all out of garlic bread...”

“So the haps is when you gotta spend money to make money but then you don’t have any way to make money you-”

“End up broke?” Jackson asks archly. Danny doesn’t kick Jackson underneath the table, though he probably would if it was a family member. Jackson’s rude scale is not equal to his sisters.

“Something like that.”

“So your party was just about going out in style?” Danny can’t see being in that situation himself any time soon. He watches his surpluses and deficits like a hawk.

“And he wanted to tattoo his name on this boom chicka’s heart. I wanted to nail her but T-Fresh was in L. U. R. V. E. Love. Like an STI for your soooooul,” Jean Ralphio sings.

“How’d that work out?”

Jean Ralphio rolls his eyes so intensely his head moves a little. “Who cares? I had a fourway in the triple VIP area.”

So the bottom line is unless Jackson wants to cough up some of his parents’ hard earned, Danny’s not going to be able to swing anything like their last party. They didn’t budget like he does, so they didn’t have to find a way to hire NBA players and hand out iPads as swag. They just decided what to blow the wad on, and did. Danny’s in the party game for the long haul, four years at least. There will be no blown wads. That still doesn’t mean this trip was pointless. Tom and Jean Ralphio probably have a hundred cool stories to share. There could be a spark of inspiration in each one. Not to mention after lunch he’ll go with Jackson to his hotel and they’ll have a party of their own. A pants off dance off, he could say. Might just say. Who cares if it makes Jax curl his lip? All the easier to nibble it that way.


End file.
